


We Got the Beat

by gleesquid



Category: Marvel 616, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Band Fic, Canon Compliant, F/F, Girl Band, Mention of recreational drug use, gratuitous pop music, men are creepy but they get put in their place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleesquid/pseuds/gleesquid
Summary: “Why on earth would you start a band?” asked Gwen. “Do you even play an instrument?”“Of course I do, Gwendolyne,” said MJ. Gwen raised an eyebrow. “I play the instrument of my body. Which is why I’ll be the lead singer.”“I don’t know what I expected,” said Gwen.Or: Mary Jane starts a band and Gwen is dragged along for the ride.





	We Got the Beat

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be my Femslash February fic. It was not. But I really wanted to look at a version of 616 Gwen who still manages to end up drumming in a girl band. Enjoy!

Mary Jane Watson had a way of announcing things. She would burst into the room, spitting blood red hair that she swore was natural from her mouth, and proclaim, “I almost died!” or “I’ve met my future husband!” Anyone in the vicinity would turn to her like they could hear the chorus and see the confetti, but it was only Mary Jane with flushed cheeks and a smudge of lipstick on her teeth. And then she would weave a story about some obnoxious tourist or the boy who made her a hamburger and it was so wild and funny that even Peter’s perpetual scowl would crack until he was doubling over in laughter. And Mary Jane would throw her head back, her laughter like a wolf’s howl. 

Gwen liked to choose her words carefully. She liked to pack the most honesty into as few words as possible. 

She did not understand the way Mary Jane Watson spoke, and she did not understand when Mary Jane Watson slammed her hands on the Coffee Bean table and announced, “I’m starting a band.” 

Gwen sipped her coffee. She took her time swallowing and placed the cup carefully back on its coaster. And then she said, “What?” 

Mary Jane took that as her invitation to slide into the chair opposite Gwen. With a sigh, Gwen closed her textbook. She had deliberately not invited any of her friends to come out with her because she wanted to study for her biochem midterm and also maybe she wanted a little bit of quiet, but somehow, MJ had found her anyway. 

“I’m starting a band,” said Mary Jane, easy smile stretched to its fullest. 

“Why on earth would you start a band?” asked Gwen. “Do you even play an instrument?” 

“Of course I do, Gwendolyne,” said MJ. Gwen raised an eyebrow. “I play the instrument of my body. Which is why I’ll be the lead singer.” 

“I don’t know what I expected,” said Gwen. 

“So are you in?” MJ grabbed Gwen’s coffee cup and took a sip. She scrunched up her face. “Did you put any cream or sugar in this? Anything white at all?”

“I’m trying to study, not host a tea party.” 

MJ grabbed a handful of creamer and started dumping the packets into Gwen’s drink. Gwen wondered if she should go buy a new drink, or if she should buy MJ one so she would leave her drink alone. 

As MJ began to pour sugar into Gwen’s coffee, she looked at her expectantly. 

“Am I in what?” asked Gwen. 

“The band! The band, Gwendolyne!” 

“Oh, no thank you.” Gwen opened her text book again, definitely ending the conversation. “I’m not singing backup to you.” 

“You wouldn’t be singing  _ backup.  _ God knows I don’t need it.” 

MJ suddenly reached for Gwen’s book, but she pulled it to her chest just as quick. They stared at each other. Gwen smirked. 

“I think,” said Mary Jane, as she lifted Gwen’s coffee cup to her lips, “that you should be the drummer.” 

Gwen couldn’t contain her snort. She had to be kidding. There was no way that Mary Jane Watson was sitting in front of her, drinking her coffee, and suggesting she be the freaking drummer while Mary Jane sang lead. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” 

“That you’re a crazy person?” 

“You’re thinking, ‘Oh, Mary Jane, but I’m no Ringo!’” 

“I’d picture your face and figure it out.” 

“But boy have I got an offer for you.” Mary Jane reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of salmon-colored paper. She rolled it across the table to Gwen. Gwen wrinkled her nose -- Mary Jane could be such a slob -- but she unwrinkled the paper anyway. On it was a stock doodle of a guitar crossed with a lipstick (because of course makeup symbolized womanhood) and block letters proclaiming: 

**_ESU’S FIRST ANNUAL BATTLE OF THE GIRL BANDS_ **

**_FIRST PRIZE: $1000_ **

**_Second Prize: $500_ **

**_Third Prize: $100_ **

Gwen’s eyes shot up to MJ. 

“One grand?” she said. “For an amateur band competition?” 

“We could split it. Or we could keep it amongst ourselves, have a girl’s day. When’s the last time you let yourself relax?” 

Gwen ran a finger over the spine of her book. “That sounds -- really nice, actually. But I don’t have the time. School is --,” 

“Yeah, yeah, science is hard, I get it. When are you gonna get another opportunity like this? Where’s your sense of adventure?” 

“I don’t need adventure,” Gwen said. “I have to focus on my future.” 

“C’mon,  _ Gwendy _ ,” said MJ. She pushed Gwen’s drink back in her direction. Gwen wrapped her fingers around it, hating and thrilling at Peter’s nickname for her on MJ’s lips. “Fly away with me.” 

MJ was like a swinging crystal, all light refracting through her and bouncing off walls. Gwen thought she could see her own reflection distorted in a rainbow of color.

Gwen took a sip of her drink, letting the bitter sweetness wash over her pallette. 

“You know, this isn’t so bad,” she said. 

MJ grinned. 

 

“You’re doing what now with whom?” 

Gwen flexed her jaw at the sound of Peter’s Doritos crunching. She glanced up at the whiteboard as Dr. Warren scribbled across it, all the while droning on about quantum physics. Her own pen moved across her paper just as quickly. 

“Mary Jane’s forming a band,” Gwen whispered. “I’m in it.” 

“I can’t imagine you singing backup to MJ.” 

“That’s because I won’t be,” said Gwen. 

Peter arched an eyebrow and plopped a Dorito in his mouth. 

“I’m gonna be the drummer.” 

He choked on Dorito dust. “You? A  _ drummer _ ?” 

Gwen squared her shoulders. His derision clawed at her skin. 

“I actually took lessons when I was a little, thank you. I had a lot of pent up aggression back then.” 

Peter snorted. “Back then?” 

Gwen reached out and snatched his bag of chips from him. He made a wounded noise as she tossed it in the trash. 

“I wasn’t  _ done, _ ” he bemoaned. 

“Mr. Parker, Ms. Stacy,” Dr. Warren called, “do you have something to share?” 

They both glanced at each other. Peter’s eyes danced and it made Gwen’s lips quirk up. 

“No, sir,” Peter said. “I mean, I did have Doritos, but Gwen threw them away.” 

Dr. Warren did not find this amusing. “I would suggest that on the rare days you grace us with your presence, you actually try paying attention in class, Parker. It would do wonders for your GPA.” 

The class  _ ooh _ ’ed as Warren went back to his lecture. 

“For what it’s worth,” Peter said after a few moments, “I think drummers are kind of sexy.” 

Gwen turned to face him: his strong jaw, thick brows, crooked nose. She knew a thing or two about sexy. 

“It’s not worth much,” she said. “But it will get you a new bag of Doritos.” 

 

Gwen had received a text that simply listed an address and ten winky emoticons. She showed up after school at the modest house in Forrest Hills and knocked on the door. A mousy woman with a kind smile opened it. 

“Oh, you must be Gwen,” said the woman. “I can tell from those killer blues. Mary Jane’s words, not mine.” 

Gwen tried for a smile even as her face felt hot. 

“Is that Gwendy Darling?” yelled a voice and then Mary Jane Watson was jumping over the woman’s shoulder. She grabbed Gwen’s hand, sending a jolt up her arm and straight to her stomach, and pulled her in. 

“That’s my Aunt Anna. This is her place and she said we could practice here. Isn’t she the best?” 

Gwen nodded, though Mary Jane couldn’t see as she pulled her long. Her hand tingled. 

They entered a living room with two other women already in place, talking to one another over a plate of tiny sandwiches. One of the women had cropped brown hair framing her big brown eyes and Gwen recognized her -- Betty Brant, the secretary at the Daily Bugle. The other woman had flyaway gray hair pulled away from her wrinkled face, and Gwen recognized her as well: Peter’s Aunt May. 

“Our final puzzle piece has arrived!” MJ announced. “Does everyone know everyone?” 

“Gwen, right?” said Betty. She wore a pencil skirt and button down that made Gwen feel woefully underdressed in her miniskirt. But then Mary Jane wore jeans, so maybe it was okay. “You’re Captain Stacy’s daughter?” 

Gwen nodded and happily accepted Aunt May’s hug. 

“Ladies, thank you for being here today,” said MJ. Gwen took a seat in between May and Betty, elbows tucked in so she wouldn’t accidentally nudge them. MJ stood in her rightful space before them all. Somehow, in the tiny living room, barefoot on a threadbare carpet, hair still a little damp from a shower, she shone even more than usual. “Welcome to Band Camp.” 

Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Must we call it that?” 

“We absolutely must,” said MJ. “After extensive research into each one of you, I have discovered your darkest secret. You are all vaguely proficient at a musical instrument. May Parker is an absolute angel on the piano.” 

May twirled her hand in a little bow. “Thank you, thank you.” 

“And then we have Betty Brant, the Mick Jagger of the Daily Bugle.” 

“My brother used to give me lessons,” said Betty, tugging on the hem of her skirt. 

“And, who could forget, the mighty Gwen Stacy, slapper of gross men and also drums.” 

Gwen didn’t know what to say.

“Since I lack any instrumental inclinations outside the tambourine,” Mary Jane went on, “I will be taking lead vocals.” 

“Oh, of course,” said Gwen. “Of course you will be.” 

“Do you have something to say, Gwendolyne?” asked MJ.

“It just wouldn’t be a Mary Jane Spectacular if you weren’t right at the center, would it?”

“While those weren’t my exact words, the nature of a Mary Jane Spectacular does seem to put Mary Jane at the center.” 

“Why’d you even ask us to come? I’m sure you could win all by yourself and you wouldn’t have to split the money.” 

“Guess I was feeling generous.” 

“Oh my god,” said Betty. She and May had been watching MJ and Gwen trade snide remarks like they were tennis balls, and Gwen only just remembered they were still here. She flushed. “It’s moments like these when I am so grateful I’m not in high school anymore.” 

“We’re not in high school!” Gwen and MJ said. Betty made a face like she wasn’t sure she believed them.

“I’m personally very excited, Mary Jane,” said May. “I was a bit of a rebel back in my day, you know.” May and Mary Jane high-fived. Gwen downcast her eyes. She hated how . . . easy their relationship was and she hated that she hated it. It’s just that May loved Mary Jane and she loved Harry but even though she was never rude to her, Gwen always got the feeling that there was some sort of barrier between the two of them. 

Maybe the barrier was Gwen’s personality. She’d never be a high-five old ladies girl and she’d just have to live with it. 

Mary Jane was distributing three-ring binders to everyone, each decorated with stickers and glitter. 

“‘She works hard for the money so you better treat her right?’” Betty quoted the cover of her binder. “Cute.”

“These are a few of my favorite things!” sang May in delight. “You’re so creative, Mary Jane.” 

“Thank you, thank you. I had some downtime at work.” Mary Jane gave a self-deprecating bow, but Gwen could tell she was pleased. Gwen looked at her own binder and saw it had cut-out golden stars and moons. And glued in the middle, in flowing typed calligraphy were the lyrics:  _ Look at the stars / look how they shine for you / and everything you do.  _

Gwen glanced up at Mary Jane, who was pretending not to watch her. “Coldplay?” 

Mary Jane smiled sheepishly. “Whatever. I didn’t think you even listened to music.” 

“Everyone listens to music.” 

“Peter hasn’t heard a song from the last decade.” 

“I caught him humming Taylor Swift in lab the other day.” 

MJ arched an eyebrow. “Which song?” 

“ _ Love Story. _ ”

Mary Jane beamed like she expected nothing less. 

“We’ve only been in this band for about ten minutes and I’m already feeling confused and excluded,” said Betty. 

Mary Jane cleared her throat and explained that in the binders were rehearsal schedules, band name options, and song choices. Next rehearsal, they’d vote on songs and names. Gwen was pretty sure MJ had her own place but she never invited anyone over there and, well, if MJ’s aunt was willing to listen to crappy girl band music for the next couple months then Gwen wouldn’t stop her. In fact, Gwen was rather impressed by all the organization Mary Jane had put into this stupid band. She acted like she didn’t care about a thing in the world, but clearly some part of her cared about this. 

When they adjourned, Anna Watson sent them all off with a plate of pasta. Betty had to leave to get back to work -- Gwen was a bit worried MJ had kidnapped her -- and MJ, Anna, and May curled up in the living room to eat. 

“You staying?” MJ asked and Gwen nearly did. But she felt so out of place here, not a part of this family, so she thanked Anna and left. 

Back at her home, she found her dad in front of the TV. 

“Daddy!” she said, draping her arms around the backs of her shoulders. He patted her hand resting over his heart. She could feel his life beating within him, steady and strong, at odds with the lined face and stark grey hair. She had to remind herself sometimes, that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “Relaxing night?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” said George. “I’ve been sitting her avoiding calls from that cousin of yours out in England.” 

“Shush,” said Gwen. She tucked herself onto the loveseat. “Paul idolizes you, and he’s a good guy.” 

“I know, I know. I just don’t think he needs my advice on what summer blockbusters look good. Think for your goddamn self, Paul.” 

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Grump.” 

“Speaking of good kids . . .” 

“Oh no.”

“Peter Parker called.”

Gwen’s cheeks warmed. “I told him to call my cell phone.” 

“Whatsa matter? Didn’t want your old man hearing that chiseled, Superman voice of his?” 

“Okay, a voice can’t be chiseled, and you’re the worst so I’m taking my pasta, and going to sleep, good night!” 

George Stacy laughed as his daughter ran down the hallway to her room. Slipping inside, her eye immediately caught on the drum set in the corner. It was baby blue, a birthday present in fifth grade, and Gwen only kept it because it still matched the aesthetic of her bedroom. And, well, because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to get rid of it. She hadn’t played it for years really. Too focused on school.

Gwen tossed her tupperware of pasta on her bed and ran to her closet. She knew where it was, she knew where everything was, even the stuff she could no longer bear to keep where people could see. Tucked into a corner of the closet was a shoebox and tucked inside were her drumsticks. They were dusty but still white and patterned with little blue flowers. Ten-year-old Gwen loved them. Maybe she still loved them. 

Gwen took the drumsticks and sat at the stool behind her drums. She knew they weren’t tuned, but she didn’t necessarily want them to sound good. She just wanted to know if her wrists still moved the way they used to. 

Slowly, she tapped a stick to a drum. And then again. And again. She kept a steady beat with one hand, not too fast, but rhythmic. And then she hit a cymbal. The crash echoed and she grimaced. 

“Gwen! Gwen, are you okay?” 

Her bedroom door burst open and there was her father staring at her banging on her ten-year-old drum set. 

“I’m, uh, I’m a band?” said Gwen. 

George’s lips twitched. “Is that a fact?” 

“Mary Jane asked me to be in her band.” 

“Well, if Mary Jane asked . . .” 

Gwen didn’t like the look in her dad’s eyes and she refused to acknowledge it. She hit another cymbal instead. 

“That needs tuning.” 

“I know, Father.” 

“I could help if you want?” asked George. Gwen realized he was hesitant and thought it strange, but then she realized she hadn’t been around much lately. She never had many friends growing up and she wanted to be a cop. She followed her dad everywhere. But now she did have friends, and an almost sort of boyfriend, and the only part of police work that interested her was the forensics. They hadn’t hung out, just the two of them, in while. 

“Sounds good,” Gwen said and was met with her father’s beam. 

When he left, Gwen got out from behind her and sat on her bed. She brought the binder to her lap and held it there. Fucking Coldplay. She opened it to the first page and stopped. A photograph was on the other side of the cover, taped there with glitter star stickers. In the photograph, Gwen and MJ were bathed in sunlight, sitting on the edge of a fountain. Mary Jane’s hair was a brilliant red gold cutting across her face as she turned to Gwen, caught in between laughter. Gwen’s sunglasses obscured her eyes but her mouth twisted in a tiny, private smile and she tilted her head in MJ’s direction. 

Gwen didn’t remember the photograph, but she remembered the day. It was the middle of the week, and Flash was complaining about being stuck on campus (though Gwen suspected it had more to do with his enlistment), so Peter called up MJ and they headed to Central Park. Gwen had packed books to study while she was out, but then Flash was teaching Harry to ride a skateboard and Peter wandered around with a camera and Mary Jane walked along the edge of a fountain like it was a stage. Gwen’s books went untouched the whole afternoon. 

Under the photo, Mary Jane’s chaotic cursive proclaimed:  _ Found this on Peter’s bedside table -- don’t even want to KNOW what he was doing with it! _

Before she could second guess herself, Gwen snapped a pic of her drum set and sent it to MJ. Almost immediately, a heart eye emoji was sent back. 

Gwen smiled. If it had been her, she wouldn’t have texted back. Wouldn’t have wanted anyone thinking she was sitting around, waiting for someone to call. But Mary Jane didn’t care what anyone thought. 

Gwen flipped the sheets of her binder to the first song. 

 

“So let me get this straight,” said Harry.  “You can’t come over to smoke the very high quality weed I  bought from my dealer because you have  _ band  _ rehearsal?” 

“And I don’t feel like getting high today, Harry,” said Gwen. She waved at Sally as they passed each other. “You shouldn’t pressure me into doing drugs with you.” 

“Whatever. I’ll text MJ.” 

“She is also in the band for which we have rehearsal.” 

“ _ What _ ? Who am I supposed to smoke with now?” 

“We’re not your only friends,” Gwen sang. 

“Gwendolyne, are you suggesting I smoke with  _ Peter _ ?”

“What, you don’t find extreme personal judgment to be kind of charming?” Harry glared at her and Gwen broke out a smile. “Hey, if you can’t smoke alone, who can you smoke with?” 

“My millions of insecurities?” 

Gwen patted Harry’s shoulder. “I worry you overdo it sometimes.” 

“I know my limits, Gwen,” huffed Harry. Gwen cast him a sidelong glance, but he looked sincere, and she dropped it. “So, hey. You and MJ. Is that a thing now?” 

“Is what a thing?” 

“Are you guys, like, friends?” 

“Sure we are,” said Gwen. “We’re in a band.” 

Like that explained it. Maybe it did.

Some white guy with dreads said, “Looking good, baby” from a bench. He flicked his lit cigarette at Gwen’s feet. She stooped to pick it up. 

“Gwen . . .” Harry murmured, tugging on his bolo tie. 

Gwen walked over to the guy on the bench. He grinned at her and his friend (white guy with a buzzcut) nudged him in the side. 

“I am looking good,” she said. “Also, this is clearly marked as a no smoking zone. You’re the reason global warming is happening.” And she slammed the butt of the cigarette onto the bench, right next to the guy’s bare fingers. 

“You crazy bitch!” he yelled, jerking his hand away. Gwen ignored him and turned on her heel. 

Harry watched her in some of kind of terrible wonder. “You scare me sometimes.” 

“Only sometimes?” said Gwen with a smirk. 

Harry shook his head as he threw an arm around her shoulder and they kept walking. 

 

“And the winner of the Band Name Contest is . . . the Mary Janes!” 

“That is not the winner,” said Gwen. “That could not possibly have won.” 

“Oh, but it did,” said MJ. “I have the numbers right here. Two whole people voted for the Mary Janes.” 

“I thought it was a nice name,” said May. 

“It’s called democracy, baby,” said Mary Jane. 

With a groan, Betty flopped backward onto the couch. 

“We also had a unanimous decision with song choice,” Mary Jane continued. “A little Go Gos anyone?”

Gwen caught Betty’s eye and they both grinned. She’d been playing around all week on the drums and only one song had really felt right. Like a winning song. It was nice, to think that the other ladies had felt that too. That maybe they were all on the same page here. 

“I only voted for the Go Gos because you didn’t include any  _ Phantom _ ,” said May. 

“We can’t play show tunes at a Battle of the Bands competition,” Mary Jane said patiently. “If we could, we’d obviously do a song from that new Spider-Man musical.” 

“That musical is an affront to Broadway.” 

“Tell us how you really feel, May.” 

“Hey, are we gonna rehearse or what?” said Betty. “I’ve really gotta get out of here by six.” 

“Sure thing,” said Mary Jane. “I’ve got you all set up in the den, go on ahead.” 

Gwen bit her lip as Betty and May moved to the den. She stepped in front of MJ before she could go anywhere. MJ arched an eyebrow. 

“Something on your mind, Tigress?” 

“I didn’t bring my kit. I thought that, you know, I’d have time to figure it out before we started rehearsing. But I live in Manhattan and I don’t have a car or anything so.” She tugged at her skirt. “I don’t have my drums with me.”

When Mary Jane frowned, it didn’t look like a real frown. It was almost like she was keeping in the laughter, like she’d never felt a negative emotion in her life but was trying to pretend. 

“We’re gonna have to go get it ourselves then,” said MJ. 

“We?” 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mary Jane breezed past her. Gwen could do nothing but follow. 

 

The rehearsal went as well as it could with a missing instrument. Gwen wondered several times if she should leave, since they seemed like they were doing fine without her. Betty was a bit out of practice on the guitar and May played the Go Gos like she was playing Mozart, but other than that, they were fine. Good even. 

And Mary Jane was a star in the middle of the music. She wasn’t the best singer but she knew how to perform. And even though it was the first rehearsal, and they kept stopping and starting, and stopping again, she still performed. For the empty room. For Gwen. 

Sometimes it hurt to look at her. Sometimes it hurt not to. 

They were supposed to be finished by six, but then Betty said, “I think I’ve almost got this chord sequence right . . .” And they were lost in the music. 

Anna Watson poked her head into the den. “Dinner’s ready.” 

“Be right there, Aunt Anna,” said MJ. She adjusted Betty’s fingers on the frets even though Gwen was pretty sure Betty knew more about guitars than Mary Jane. If Mary Jane was determined to teach you something, you might as well let her. 

Anna’s eyes fell on Gwen. “Want to get started?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t --,” 

“Nonsense. It’ll get cold.” 

So Gwen made her way to the kitchen with Anna Watson where a table of pork tenderloin, roasted vegetables, and mashed potatoes greeted her. It smelled amazing. Like a home.

“This is all so nice,” said Gwen, taking a seat. “My dad tries but he’s no cook. And I’m only really good at baking. We mostly get takeout.” 

“Baking, that’s the tricky one,” said Anna. She served a hearty scoop of mashed potatoes to herself and Gwen smiled a little. 

“It’s one of the lesser known sciences. And I have a knack for those.”

Gwen shoveled roasted potatoes onto her plate as the guitar rang out and Mary Jane hit a high note. Gwen glanced up at Anna, who stared in the direction of the music fondly.

“You know, this is the first time I’ve really seen Mary Jane focused in a while,” said Anna, a bit distant. 

“What do you mean?” asked Gwen.

Anna glanced at Gwen and then away. “She’s a free spirit, that girl. It’s one of the things I love most about her. But I imagine living without a care in the world can be rather lonely.” 

“It’s hard to imagine Mary Jane being lonely,” Gwen said to her mashed potatoes. “She’s so . . . vibrant. Fits right into any crowd.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. She didn’t grow up in a stable environment, see. Rotten father, mother and sister who were trying to survive. She learned quickly how to look out for herself. It’s a funny thing. You never realize how lucky you are to know, without a doubt, that someone in the world would choose you until you meet someone who doesn’t.”

Gwen thought of high school when Harry would stay at her place for days, just to see if his dad noticed. She thought of Flash somewhere across the Atlantic trying to be a man. She thought of her father’s face screwed up in concentration as he tuned her drum set. 

The music had stopped. 

“What’s cookin’ good-lookin’?” Mary Jane asked. She draped her arms over the back of Gwen’s chair, her chins resting on the crown of Gwen’s head. Gwen fought to keep her eyes open. “Smells delish.” 

“I already made you a plate,” said Anna. 

“You know I love me a mashed potato.” 

MJ took the plate of and settled next to Gwen. Not across from her. The skin of their ankles brushed. 

“May and Betty left?” Gwen asked. 

“Mmm,” said MJ around a spoonful of potatoes. “Betty stayed an hour later than she meant to and May wanted to catch some shuteye. So it’s us three tonight.” She nudged her shoulder against Gwen’s. Gwen couldn’t look at her. “You wanna go get your drums after this?” 

Gwen didn’t think Mary Jane would have remembered. It was late. She should really finish biochem homework. 

“Okay,” said Gwen. 

 

They took the subway. It was crowded with people getting off work and Gwen and MJ had to huddle close together to avoid knocking into the lady with the baby or the skeevy guy who looked at them a little too long. 

“Close your eyes,” Mary Jane said as the train rumbled to life. “Close your eyes and make a wish.” 

Gwen was not the type of girl to close her eyes on a crowded subway train or to make wishes in tunnels. She was not the type of girl to join a band. 

“Only if you do too,” she said. 

Mary Jane smiled. Gwen wanted to believe she had never noticed how bright that smile was or how green Mary Jane’s eyes were, but of course she had. 

And then MJ closed her eyes. Gwen watched the way her lips moved slightly with the wish. The flutter of eyelashes against skin. Gwen counted her freckles. 

Mary Jane’s eyes opened. “What’d you wish for?” 

She smiled like she knew Gwen hadn’t bothered, so Gwen didn’t pretend.

“I don’t believe in that sort of thing.” 

“Gwendy Darling,” said MJ, “girls who drum in girl bands always believe in that sort of thing.”

Perhaps Gwen would have to cut Peter some slack. The weight of Mary Jane Watson’s attention was a dangerous thing. 

“What are you thinking about?” Mary Jane whispered. 

“Hm?” 

“You looked sad, just now.” 

“Oh,” said Gwen. Gwen hadn’t been feeling particularly sad, or at least she didn’t think so. She was an easy crier. “I was thinking about Peter, actually.” 

“Peter Parker,” said Mary Jane. She leaned on her heels away from Gwen. “The man of the hour.”

She was silent for the rest of the trip, aside from an occasional burst of humming that might have been a song from that Spider-Man musical.

 

“Sweet pad,” said Mary Jane when Gwen let her into her apartment. “All this for your dad and you?” 

She shrugged. Harry and his dad used to live together in a mansion -- a literal mansion -- and she supposed that next to that, anything else was . . . inconsequential. She sometimes forgot that to her other friends, the roomy apartment with its stainless steel kitchen, separate televisions, and walk-in closets was almost as impossible. 

“Dad?” Gwen called into the house. There was no answer. “Daddy?” 

Something cold and slick like a stone settled in the pit of her gut. She took off running, ignoring Mary Jane’s startled yelp behind her. She pushed open the door to his office, but it was empty. She ran to his bedroom and pushed that door open -- and on his bed, still fully dressed, was her father. She took a moment to watch him and saw the subtle flutter of his chest and the ear plugs he wore to block out the city noise (after so many years on the force, he could wake up at the slightest sound). She closed the door. 

“Everything good?” asked MJ, leaning against the wall by a framed Monet painting. 

“Sorry,” said Gwen. “My dad, he -- he’s retired but, um, he’s been kind of . . . slipping back into his old life lately. I guess I’m a bit paranoid.” She shook her head. “He’s the one who always has to be the hero.” 

“I can’t imagine what that’s like. To love someone and not know if they’re coming back from their job every day.” 

“It sounds so dramatic when you put it like that,” said Gwen with a laugh. She glanced up at MJ. “I hope I don’t sound like a cliche. Cop’s daughter frets over his return. Bring out the smelling salts.” 

Mary Jane grinned. “Cop’s daughter frets over his return. Has a killer right hook. Plays drums in a girl band. Owns New York’s largest collection of designer sunglasses. Studies all day, can cut a rug all night.” Her eyes darkened. “You’re no cliche, Gwen Stacy.” 

Gwen cleared her throat. “My room’s this way.” 

She led Mary Jane to her room, a strange nervousness bubbling up inside her. She wondered what Mary Jane’s room looked like. It was probably bold and bright and sensual. Gwen suddenly felt like a little girl inviting her friends over for the first time. 

Mary Jane walked into the room, her eyes sweeping its surfaces. Gwen stood by the door. 

“Minimalistic,” said Mary Jane. “Pink.” 

Mary Jane’s eyes fell on the drumset on the corner. Gwen swallowed. 

“Those them?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Mary Jane turned her eyes -- those eyes -- on Gwen. “Play me something?”

“I have neighbors.” 

“We’ll be quiet.” 

“Not how drums works. And besides, I don’t know what I’d play. Drums aren’t . . . pretty.” 

“They will be when you play them.” 

Gwen thought the ground beneath her might split open and swallow her whole. 

“Okay,” said Gwen. “Okay.” She pulled up a song on her phone, one of her favorites to drum along to when she’d been ten, and tried not to feel embarrassed as she settled behind the drums. 

Mary Jane let out a delighted laugh as the singer scream-sang, “Yo, I’ll tell you want, what I really, really want!” and Gwen attacked the drums. What she’d loved about this song when she was little was that it was so aggressive, so fast-paced, that there was no room for hesitation. It got her out of her head. 

Mary Jane’s voice joined the Spice Girls.  _ “If you want my future, forget my past . . . _ ” MJ was on her feet and she snatched a glass beaker from Gwen’s desk that she’d cleaned out from last night’s homework, singing into it with all the flare of Madonna. If this was some other time with some other Gwen, Gwen would have yelled at her to be careful. “ _ Now don’t go wasting my precious time . . .” _

Gwen was missing beats and singing off-key, but Mary Jane Watson was in her room, dancing, all long limbs and hips and scarlet hair. And Gwen felt alive. 

_ “So here’s a story from A to Z --”  _

“Hey! Shut up!” 

There were a series of bangs on the floor.

Gwen and Mary Jane went silent, allowing the Spice Girls to sing without them. 

“Sorry, Stan!” Gwen called back. She was met with another bang. 

“That guy has seriously long arms,” said Mary Jane and Gwen cracked up laughing. Looking surprised, but not at all displeased, Mary Jane collapsed backwards on Gwen’s bed. Gwen quieted and Mary Jane waved her arms in the air. “No, please, keep laughing.” 

Gwen arched an eyebrow. “Ego, much?” 

“I just mean that you never laugh. You have a nice laugh.” 

Gwen scrunched up her face. She was sure that wasn’t true. 

“I laugh plenty,” said Gwen. She got up from behind the drums and sat on the edge of her bed. She watched as Mary Jane propped herself up on her elbows. “I laugh at how stupid our friends are.” 

“Not the same as laughing at jokes, Ice Queen. Or yourself.” 

“Well, I’m never stupid.” 

“Fair. Guess I have no idea what it’s like to be you, huh?” 

Gwen lowered herself to the bed beside Mary Jane. “You’ll have to teach me.” 

“Hm?” 

“How to laugh.” Gwen turned her head to face Mary Jane and she found Mary Jane was already watching her. Their noses almost touched. “Never met something you couldn’t laugh at, did you, Mary Jane?”

Mary Jane’s lips twitched. “You gotta hold onto anything that makes life suck a little less.” 

She held her haze and Gwen thought . . . she thought . . . 

_ “Money, money, money, must be funny, in a rich man’s --” _

“Shit,” said Mary Jane, digging her phone from her pocket. She answered. “Hey, Hare-bear. No, I wasn’t fucking texting you for weed, oh my god. Or  _ that _ , jesus, Harry. Look, can we use your car to transport Gwen’s drums around? We won’t -- I can drive just fine! Oh my god. No. Ugh, fine.” Mary Jane switched her phone over to speaker. “Apparently, he doesn’t trust that I won’t total his car.” 

“Hi, Harry,” said Gwen. 

“Gwen!” said Harry, too loud and too articulate. “Gwen Gwen Gwen Gwen Gwen. You need my car?” 

“I do,” said Gwen. “Is that okay with you?” 

“Absolutely. I’d do anything for you Gwen! I’d do all your homework except then your GPA would dip so you wouldn’t let me. But I would do it and that’s what matters.” 

Gwen and Mary Jane exchanged smiles. “You’re the sweetest, Hare.”

“You need me over there right now? I can be there right now!” 

“Not sure that’s safe, buddy,” Mary Jane said. 

“You’re right, I’m high as balls. I need you guys to keep me safe. I’ll come over tomorrow?” 

“Who you talkin’ to?” came a voice in the distance. A shiver went down Gwen’s spine, and she wasn’t sure if it was pleasant. 

“Gwen. And your old neighbor.” 

“Fuck you so much, Osborn,” Mary Jane said as she played with the ends of Gwen’s hair. 

“Heya, Gwendy!” said Peter. “Hi, Anna!” 

“I hate men. I hate them so much. Gwen and I are running away together forever and never seeing another man again.” 

“Pics or it didn’t happen.” 

“Bye, Peter,” said Gwen. “See you tomorrow, Harry.” 

“Hey, wait --” 

She hung up. 

“Men are awful,” Gwen said. “Maybe we  _ should  _ run away together.” 

Mary Jane twirled her finger around a strand of Gwen’s hair. She held it there, and Gwen’s face felt hot as if MJ’s finger were really some sort of hair curler. She thought she smelled smoke. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” said MJ as she watched the hair unravel. 

 

Gwen’s eyes flew open to the sound of a yelp and her door slamming shut. She looked to the side. Mary Jane was moaning and burying her head under a pillow. Her back was a bare expanse of freckles and she wore the loose sleep shorts Gwen had leant her. She must have gotten warm in the night and taken off her shirt and bra. 

Gwen watched her. The curve of her. The light of her. She thought she could die like this. 

Gwen slipped from the bed and padded out her door, shutting it softly behind her. She found her dad at the kitchen table, his head bent over his orange juice and newspaper.

“Daddy,” she said.

“I didn’t see anything!” he cried immediately. “Your door was open and I only thought --,” 

“It’s fine,” said Gwen. “I’m sorry.” 

George watched her as she settled into a chair. He pushed his orange juice, still full, across the table and she took a sip. 

“Did you,” he began. He stopped and cleared his throat. “I know you’re technically an adult, but you’re still my little girl, and living under my roof and -- and if you’re going to do that sort of thing, I’d at least prefer to not be in the house --,” 

“Oh my god. Dad, I wasn’t, no.” 

“But I don’t have a problem with it, I need you do to know that I love you no matter what --,” 

“I’m not having sex with Mary Jane!” 

“And to think, you were so tender.” 

Gwen spun in her seat to see Mary Jane in the doorway. She was dressed in her jeans and tank top (reading “you’re cute when I’m drunk”) from yesterday with her hair mussed, lips stained red, and mascara smudged under her eyes. A bra strap slid down her shoulder. She did not provide any evidence that she had not had a wild night in Gwen’s bed.

“Mary Jane,” said Gwen through gritted teeth, “please tell _ my father _ why you’re here.”  

For a moment, Gwen thought Mary Jane would go on with the charade. But then she huffed and walked over to the seat across from Gwen. 

“Just here to take Gwen’s drums back to my place. And I overheat when I sleep. Sorry if you saw anything unseemly.” 

“Only your back,” said George with a tinge of pink in his cheeks. 

“Worse men than you have seen that.” 

Gwen gulped the orange juice. 

“You’re taking the drums?” asked George. He was frowning. 

“I told you I was in a band,” said Gwen. 

George scratched his jaw. “You’ll keep it up with it though? Promise?” 

“Sure,” said Gwen. “For my band.” 

Mary Jane’s phone dinged. She glanced at it. “Harry and Peter’ll be here in a half hour.” She looked up at Gwen. “Cute nightie.” 

Gwen looked down at her polka dotted nightgown. She felt suddenly exposed and wrapped her arms around herself. 

“I’ll be back,” she said and hopped up. 

“Don’t change on their account!” Mary Jane yelled. 

Gwen threw on a leather mini skirt and a turtleneck and went about maneuvering her hair into something presentable. Mary Jane knocked on the door before letting herself in. 

“It’s just Harry and Peter,” said Mary Jane. “Seen them hundreds of times before.” 

Gwen carefully applied her mascara and didn’t answer. 

“Then again, it  _ is  _ Peter. Who wouldn’t want to pretty up for him?”

“Thirty percent of STEM majors at ESU are women,” said Gwen, watching her own hand in the mirror and not looking at Mary Jane at all. “Only about ten percent of astrophysics majors are. Eyes are on me constantly. Do you know what that’s like?” 

“Believe it or not, I do.” 

Mary Jane came over Gwen’s shoulder and picked out a light pink lip gloss. She took Gwen’s chin in her hand and angled it towards her. While she swiped the gloss along Gwen’s lips, Gwen’s counted the freckles across Mary Jane’s nose. 

When Mary Jane was done, she grabbed a pair of white cateye sunglasses and moved them into place. Then she stepped back and allowed Gwen to look at herself in the mirror.

“If it isn’t Princess Grace,” said Mary Jane. “How’s the weather up in Monaco?” 

The doorbell rang. 

Gwen and Mary Jane moved into the living room to see that George had already let Peter and Harry inside. 

“Foxy ladies,” greeted Harry and moved to hug them. 

When Gwen hugged Peter, she could feel the eyes of her father and Mary Jane. A part of her wished she were alone. That she had no friends. That no one expected a thing of her.

They showed Peter and Harry the drumset, which the boys fawned over like two people who knew they should think drums are cool but still knew nothing about drums. 

“Get to it boys,” said Mary Jane. 

“What?” asked Harry. “You aren’t gonna help?”

“We should have called a real man,” Gwen told Mary Jane. “Too bad Flash isn’t back from war yet.” 

A muscle twitched in Peter’s jaw. He went about grabbing the bass, tom-toms, and snare all at once. 

“Don’t drop them!” Gwen cried but Peter ignored her, muscling the drums out of the doorway. Grimacing, Harry grabbed a cymbal and followed. 

“The feminist in me is alarmed,” said Gwen. “But the slacker in me is at peace.” 

“There is no slacker in you,” Mary Jane said and pulled Gwen back onto the bed as the boys kept working. 

 

When they pulled up outside Anna Watson’s house, Anna and May were drinking lemonade on the chair swing. The car parked and May sprang to her feet. 

“Is that . . . it couldn’t be!”

“Oh, here we go,” muttered Mary Jane. 

“But it is!” called Peter. “I have returned to you, my love!” 

He hurtled out of the car and ran to May, who he spun around in his arms. 

“They’re always like this,” Mary Jane said. “I feel awful for the poor sap who marries into that family.” 

Gwen, Mary Jane, and Harry brought the drumset into Anna Watson’s house piece by piece while Peter doted over his aunt. Gwen privately thought Peter was using Aunt May as an excuse to stop helping them. Maybe those muscles weren’t as tough as they seemed. 

When they finished setting up, Gwen and Mary Jane took a step back to look at the instruments crammed into Anna Watson’s den all together. The keyboard, Betty’s electric guitar, the microphone stand, and the drums at the center. They shared a smile. This was it. They were really doing this. 

“You’re welcome to stay and watch,” MJ told Harry. “We could use an audience. Betty’s coming over at one.” 

“Betty Brant?” Peter asked, walking into the room with Aunt May. “She’s in your band too?” 

“Down, boy,” said MJ. “In a committed relationship.” 

Peter’s whole face twitched like he was trying very, very hard to contain an eye roll. 

“I have to get to work anyway,” said Peter. 

“Don’t you freelance?” asked Gwen. 

“Well I gotta go freelance some stuff. I’ll drop in later.” 

“And I’m having lunch with my dad.” Harry arched an eyebrow at Gwen. “If I’m not heard from in two days, don’t come looking for me.” 

“Believe me,” said Gwen, “the last thing I’ll do is seek out Norman Osborn.” 

They hugged goodbye. Peter kissed Gwen’s forehead before he left, warm and soft, and Mary Jane ran her fingers along the keyboard keys and didn’t watch. 

 

It only took one rehearsal for the members of the Mary Janes to realize they weren’t that great. But it took two more rehearsals to realize they were still pretty damn good. 

May was stiff on the keyboard, but she made up for it with spunk. 

“If the crowd looks bored, I’ll throw my bra at them,” she said. 

“You always know how to liven up a party,” agreed MJ. 

Betty’s chords weren’t very clean but she was wicked fast. 

“With fingers like that, you should be typing stories,” said Gwen. “Your talents are wasted.” 

Betty shifted her fingers into a C chord. “These fingers get put to plenty of use taking messages for J. Jonah Jameson.” She had a strange look on her face as she played a D. “I mean, me, a reporter. Don’t need that kind of drama in my life.”

Mary Jane’s voice was a bit breathy and a bit pitchy on the high notes, but she had the sort of natural charisma that can’t be faked. And Gwen had to hand it to her -- maybe there was a reason Mary Jane excelled in the spotlight. Maybe that’s where she belonged. 

“You’re going offbeat when you shouldn’t,” May told Gwen on their break. “It’s a bit disorienting.” 

“I don’t know why I can’t get the timing right,” said Gwen. “It’s not even a hard song.” 

“Maybe spend a little more time drumming and a little less time watching Mary Jane?” suggested Betty innocently. 

May coughed and Mary Jane smirked around her water bottle. 

Gwen told Betty, “Your boyfriend looks like a muppet.” 

“Jesus,” Betty said.

Gwen found herself looking forward to band rehearsals in a way she never could have expected. She rushed out of classes and hummed as she did her homework and tapped out beats with her pens during lectures. And she felt . . . softer, inside out. Like her whole life had been playing in a minor key and she didn’t even realize until it switched to a major. She even laughed at Harry’s stupid jokes sometimes, which made him far too pigheaded, but the thing was, she didn’t care! She liked the way her laughter made him smile. 

“Ms. Stacy, a word?” Dr. Warren called one day as the class ended. 

“I’ll catch up with you,” Gwen told Peter, and wished she hadn’t. He left the class and she felt abruptly alone. Alone, with Dr. Warren. 

“I’ve been worried about you, Gwen,” said Dr. Warren. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of his shirt. His eyes looked too small in his face. 

“Okay,” said Gwen. 

“You’ve seemed dazed and dreamy in class. Not entirely focused.” 

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” 

“Are you aware that you got a B on your midterm?” 

“An eighty-nine,” said Gwen. “And it hardly affected my overall grade.” 

Dr. Warren walked around the front of his desk to perch on the edge of it, a foot from Gwen. She fought against the urge to take a step back. 

“I’m worried is all,” said Dr. Warren. “You’ve always been perfect, Gwen. The perfect student, I mean. I would hate to see you throw away your potential.” 

“My potential is as potent as ever,” Gwen said. “I promise. If that’s all, Professor, I should be going.” 

He cleared his throat. “Feel free to call me Miles. If it would make you feel more comfortable.” 

“It wouldn’t,” said Gwen. “But I appreciate your concern, Dr. Warren.” 

Before he could get in another word, she turned and left the classroom. Peter stood right outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and head bent. 

“You waited?” asked Gwen. 

Peter looked up. “I know, I know, you don’t need me to protect you, you’re perfectly fine walking across campus on your own, I am perpetuating the patriarchy --,” 

“Thanks.” 

He smiled a little. “Ya know, Gwendy, I think drumming has been good for your temperament.” 

“I will slap you, don’t test me,” said Gwen. He threw an arm over her shoulders and she leaned into his warmth as they walked to the parking lot. 

 

Mary Jane burst into the room with all her usual flare. “Get in losers,” she said. “We’re going shopping.”

“Get in where?” asked May. 

“We should really rehearse,” said Betty. “That’s definitely something we should do.” 

“Every chick flick has a makeover scene,” said Mary Jane. “And I’ve got an employee discount at Nordstrom.” 

She looked around at them: Betty in her mauve skirt suit, Aunt May in her old pearls and cardigan, and Gwen still wearing the white lab coat she’d needed for class. 

“We have a lot of work to do,” said Mary Jane. 

 

They wandered the clearance racks of Nordstrom with Mary Jane tossing clothes at each of them individually. Gwen felt she should have a say in this since Mary Jane’s fashion sense was in no way better than hers, but Mary Jane claimed this was her  _ vision _ . 

“I’m thinking we should each dye our hair a different color,” said Mary Jane. “I mean, not me, since my hair color is already so gorgeous --”

“Blondes can’t dye their hair,” Gwen said. “I’d never get this shade again.” 

“And I work in an office job,” said Betty. “Oh my god, look.” She grabbed a white t-shirt that had an imprint of lipsticks and the bold pink letters: GO GO’s 1980. “I’m in love with it.” 

“Amazing, it’s yours,” said MJ. “Look for some jeans. Or leather!.” 

“I think I’d like to go aquamarine,” said May, eyeing herself in a mirror. “Or maybe fuschia.” 

Gwen wandered over to the sunglasses. She picked out a pair of pink ones shaped like flowers and examined herself in the mirror. 

“No sunglasses!” said MJ. She was holding an ostentatious pair of white snakeskin boots. “Unless you want to look like that guy from the X-Men.” 

“I think they’re cute,” said Gwen. “And sunglasses inside are always sexy.” 

“Says who?” asked Mary Jane. She checked the price of the boots and grimaced. “Fine, whatever, wear the sunglasses. Like you don’t have enough already.” 

“I don’t have any shaped like flowers,” Gwen said. 

Mary Jane looked at her and Gwen wiggled her eyebrows from behind the ridiculous glasses. Mary Jane cracked a smile. It was a strange reversal, for Gwen to be the one trying to make Mary Jane smile, but Gwen liked it. When Mary Jane smiled, the sun followed. 

Good thing she was wearing glasses.

They met up with Betty and May at the dressing rooms. The attendant said, “We have three rooms available.” 

“We’ll share,” MJ said, linking arms with Gwen. Gwen’s heart fluttered as they went to a room. 

“Meet outside in your favorite look at ten!” Mary Jane called over her shoulder. 

Gwen could hear MJ taking off her clothes and didn’t look in the mirror as she took off her own. The first thing she put on was a polka dotted dress that was too tight to even move. She turned to see Mary Jane’s artfully ripped jeans didn’t reach her ankles. 

“We’ll wear clothes that are too small for us,” said Mary Jane. “It’s a metaphor for the oppression of women and rock and roll.” 

Gwen smirked as she wiggled out of her dress. She slipped into white denim and a hot pink bralette. 

“Um,” said Gwen. “Where’s the rest of this outfit?” 

Mary Jane appeared over Gwen’s shoulder in the mirror. “You don’t like it?” 

“This is a bathing suit, not clothing.” 

“I dunno.” Mary Jane ran a finger along the straps of the bralette. Gwen’s skin burned. “It’s flirty, sassy, badass. Very you.” 

Gwen shook her head. “Whatever I am, it isn’t this.” 

Mary Jane scrunched her nose. Then she left the dressing room in her too small capris. Gwen stared at herself in the mirror, the whole of her. Every freckle on her skin. The mole on her ribcage. A strange thought entered Gwen’s head:  _ she left because she saw you.  _ Which was stupid. Mary Jane was coming back. Mary Jane had always seen her. 

The door to the dressing room pushed open and Mary Jane entered. She made a sound as if to speak, but froze when she noticed the silent tears tracking down Gwen’s face. 

“Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” 

“PMS,” said Gwen. And she laughed. “No it’s not.” 

“Hey, I wouldn’t judge if it was. You don’t have to tell me.” 

Gwen shook her head. “I got my drumset after my mom left. My therapist said it’d be good to have an outlet for my anger. And it was. But then she died, and I guess I just . . . stopped playing. And now I’m doing it again and it’s horrible and amazing and -- I don’t even know why I’m thinking about this all of a sudden. I try not to think too much about anything you can’t test in a lab.” 

“I get it,” said MJ. “Like, I really get it. Not the lab thing, but -- god, even thinking about my dad is a like walking on landmines. Best left untouched.” 

Gwen blew out a breath and turned to face MJ. 

“You know, I really didn’t like you when I first met you.” 

MJ arched an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

Gwen laughed. “Guess I wasn’t good at hiding it. I told myself it was jealousy, that you were this pretty, confident girl and all my friends were instantly in love with you. And maybe it was jealousy, but not over that. You were just . . . all the things I thought I could be if I was only someone better.” 

“And now?” Mary Jane asked. She was so close and Gwen couldn’t remember when she had gotten that close. 

“Now,” said Gwen, “I don’t even know who I am when I’m with you. But it beats who I am when I’m not.” 

Mary Jane licked her lips. She reached forward and Gwen thought she might touch her, but instead she slipped a jacket over Gwen’s shoulders. Gwen looked in the mirror: a white hoodie with a black zipper and hot pink stitching. Mary Jane pulled up the zipper halfway so you could still see the bralette underneath but most of the skin was gone. Then she tugged the hood over Gwen’s head. 

“You look like a superhero,” Mary Jane said. 

“Like Spider-Man meets Spice Girls,” said Gwen. 

“Spider-Gwen. How’s that for a band name?” 

“Catchy,” Gwen agreed. “I think it’s been ten minutes.” 

“And I’m still wearing these stupid pants,” said Mary Jane. She met Gwen’s eyes in the mirror. “It’s okay that you didn’t like me. But I need you to know that I liked you from the moment I saw you.” 

Gwen exhaled. 

 

When she got home, her dad wasn’t there. She called him once, and twice, and he didn’t answer. And that was okay. But then she started thinking of all the places he could be. All the places he might not be. And she sat with her back against the front door and she waited. She waited and she called Peter, but there was no answer. She waited and she called Harry, and he texted saying,  _ with my dad ttyl. _ She waited and she called Flash but, of course, nothing. She waited and she pulled up MJ’s contact, but didn’t call. 

When the door opened, she was curled up in a ball, asleep on the floor. 

“Gwen?” George asked and Gwen bolted upright. 

“Where were you?” she asked. 

“Why aren’t you in bed? Have you eaten?” 

“Where were you?” Gwen pushed herself to her feet. “Where the hell have you been?” 

“Hey, young lady, you don’t get to talk to me like that.” 

“You can’t just disappear!” She could hear herself yelling. She saw the Mrs. Willowby across the hall poke her head out of the door and quickly shut it again, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “I didn’t know where you were! You could have been dead!” 

She moved as if to shove him and George grabbed her wrists before they met her chest. And for a brief, horrible moment, Gwen thought he would push her to the ground -- that’s what she would have done -- but instead he pulled her to her chest and held her there. She wrapped her arms around his broad body, thin and soft after years off the force but still strong in his core. 

“It’s true I was meeting a guy who needed help on a case,” her father murmured into her hair. “But then we got drinks, and my phone died, I didn’t realize, I would have left if I’d realized. I’ll never leave you like that again, I promise.” 

Gwen shook her head against his chest. She could smell the same warm spice of the cologne he’d worn since she was a little girl. She remembered him holding her like this after her mother left and at her funeral, when that girl in eighth grade told her she was too ditzy to be a scientist, when Norman Osborn yelled at her because she got lost in his house and ended up in a room full of dim lighting and green vials. It was always the same promise. 

“I’m sorry I’m so crazy,” she whispered. 

George stepped into the room finally, letting the door shut behind him. And he took her face in his big hands and wiped her tears softly with this pads of his thumbs. 

“You’re not crazy,” he said. “You feel things so bravely.” 

But Gwen didn’t feel brave. She couldn’t put a name to everything she felt, but she was fairly certain “afraid” was in the running. 

Her phone dinged with a text. 

_ Spider-Gwen, Spider-Gwen, does whatever a Gwen can. Does science of all kinds, hits the drums and rude guys. Look out! Here comes the Spider-Gwen.  _

“Mary Jane?” George asked. 

Gwen looked up at him. Before, he would have asked if it was Peter or Harry. He would have said something like,  _ “I know my Gwen’s cute boy smile.”  _ And she would have scoffed but secretly been pleased as she ran to her bedroom to talk to her friend.

“Mary Jane,” Gwen said. 

 

ESU’s music hall was pink. The lights were pink. Pink streamers hung from the ceiling. Concessions were selling pink cupcakes and cookies. 

“Is this a girl band competition?” asked Betty. “Or a Barbie band competition?” 

“I like it,” said Mary Jane. “They’re committed to their aesthetic.” 

A stage manager rushed over to them. “Band name?” 

“The Mary Janes,” said Mary Jane. “No relation to marijuana.”

The stage manager made a face like they weren’t the first band to try that excuse. “Go put your instruments in the allotted area backstage and stand by. We’ll be doing a transition run in thirty.” 

She waved over a few tech people to help with the drum kit and keyboard and they followed them backstage. 

“This is all so official,” May whispered to them. Her silver had been streaked with blue and pink (aquamarine and fuschia, she insisted) and she wore a tight silver dress with go go boots. “I feel like a celebrity.” 

“Ned said he’d come,” Betty told them. “If he can get off work.”

“He better,” said Mary Jane. “You look so hot.” 

Betty smiled like she felt hot. She wore the vintage Go Go’s shirt with pleather pants and her bob had been cut even shorter so it slashed across her jawline. 

Mary Jane, for her part, wore a black sequined bodysuit, dazzling against her scarlet ringlets. Heads turned wherever she went and Gwen, clad in her superhero look, didn’t feel out of place beside her. 

They ran through the transitions and then settled in a dressing room backstage. All around them were women, mostly young but some old, touching up makeup and going through warm ups. Gwen might have, once, looked down on these kinds of women, attending some stupid collegiate competition because they had access to musical instruments and the notion that any of this mattered. Now she felt proud to be amongst them. 

Gwen’s phone rang and she shrieked when she saw the caller ID. 

“MJ, MJ, come quick!” she said, grinning untrollaby as Flash Thompson’s face filled the screen.

“Gwen.” He said her named like a sigh. Mary Jane crowded next to Gwen and Flash beamed. “Mary Jane! If it isn’t the two loveliest girls in the world!”

He looked handsome and strawberry blond and tired and she was so, so happy to see him. 

“You do have a sister,” said MJ. 

“Eh, what’s she ever done for me?” asked Flash. He took a moment to grin at them and they grinned back. “God, I could hardly believe it when Parker told me about this whole thing.” 

“You’ve been talking to Peter about us?” asked Mary Jane. “Tell me more. Is it late at night? How many clothes are involved?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I talk to whoever I can. He promised to video tape your song for me. Sorry I can’t stay to watch.” 

“Seeing you right now is more than I ever hoped for,” said Gwen. 

“Right back atcha,” said Flash with a light flush to his cheeks. “Hey, is Betty Brant there?” 

“Betty this, Betty that,” said Gwen. 

“Hey, Betty, why is every guy in love with you?” called Mary Jane. 

“It’s because I have a steady job and can provide for them financially,” said Betty as she touched up her mascara. 

“I hate you guys,” said Flash. Gwen and MJ cackled and his glare softened. “Man, the two of you, together. Pretty crazy.” 

Gwen stiffened. Beside her, Mary Jane cleared her throat. 

“Is it?” MJ asked. 

“Well, yeah,” said Flash. He grinned. “But good crazy. Like pineapple on pizza. Or Parker growing all those muscles overnight.” 

“If you love Peter Parker so much, why don’t you marry him?” asked Mary Jane. 

“He’d have to divorce Betty first,” said Gwen. 

“I wish I’d never called,” Flash said, but he was still grinning. “Can’t wait till I can get home and can hug you for real.” 

“We love you, Flash,” said Gwen. 

“For real for real,” said Mary Jane. 

They blew kisses at him and he pretended to catch them like a nerd. And then he waved one last time and hung up the phone. 

Mary Jane and Gwen looked at each other. In Gwen’s head, the words  _ “good crazy”  _ echoed. 

“Melodic Chaos to the stage,” said the stage manager at the door to the dressing room. “And we need the Madonnabes on standby.” 

“It’s all led here,” said Mary Jane. “Ready, ladies?” 

“This is the most important moment of my life,” said May. “More important than my wedding night and let me tell you, that was a pretty damn good night.” 

“We should have rehearsed more,” said Betty, looking a bit green. “Oh god.” 

“I’m ready,” said Gwen and Mary Jane beamed. 

“Yeah, you are.”

 

“Mary Janes on standby,” the stage manager called. 

“Here we go,” said May, allowing Betty to help her to her feet. They left the dressing room and Gwen was about to follow when she noticed Mary Jane watching herself in the mirror.

“Hey,” said Gwen, coming up behind her. “Nervous?” 

“No,” said Mary Jane. She cracked a shaky smile. “What’s there to be nervous about?” 

“It’s okay to be scared. Even you can’t be on all the time.” 

Mary Jane rolled her eyes as if to say “ _ watch me.” _

Gwen placed a hand on her elbow. “You did this, MJ. You brought us together. The secretary of the Daily Bugle. Your elderly neighbor. That nerdy girl you hang out with sometimes. And even if we suck out there, the fact that we’re out there at all? Well. We must love you, huh?” 

Mary Jane turned. Gwen went to remove her hand, but Mary Jane caught it. She linked their fingers together. 

“It was never for the money,” said MJ. “That would be awesome, but. You know it was never about that, don’t you?” 

Gwen knew. Without words, she led Mary Jane backstage. 

As they approached Betty and May in the wings, Mary Jane whispered, “I’ll be right back” and slipped away to talk to the stage manager. Gwen let her go. 

“Everything good?” Betty asked. 

“Better than,” said Gwen. 

Onstage the emcee announced, “Give it up for Glory!”

A single woman in a golden dress walked onstage with an acoustic guitar. The chords rang out as she began to play, soft and slow. 

_ “There’s a boy I know, he’s the one I dream of . . . looks into my eyes, takes me to the clouds above . . .” _

“Wow,” said Betty and that about summed it up. Glory’s voice rang out and a hush fell over the crowd. 

_ “Oh, I lose control, can’t seem to get enough . . .” _

Gwen craned her neck to find Mary Jane and saw her laughing with the stage manager like they were old friends. Only Mary Jane could do that, meet a person one minute and be their best friend by the next. She was the warmest, kindest, loveliest person Gwen knew. A human sun surrounded by sunflowers. 

_ “Wake me, I’m shaking, I wish I had you near me now . . . said there’s no mistaking what I feel is really love . . .”  _

Mary Jane caught Gwen’s eye and mouthed, “ _ she’s really good _ !”

Gwen nodded. 

_ “Ooh tell me if he loves me, if he loves me, if he loves me not!”  _

Gwen turned back to the stage where Glory was really starting to get into the song, rapping her hand against her guitar in a percussive beat. If she angled herself right, Gwen could see the lights swaying in the audience. She wondered if Peter was there. 

_ “How will I know if he really loves me? I say a prayer with every heartbeat . . .”  _

Mary Jane knocked her shoulder into Gwen’s. “Long time no see, stranger. This chick is awesome.” 

“Yes.” Gwen swallowed. “Mary Jane --,”

_ “I fall in love whenever we meet,”  _ Mary Jane sang along. 

“I just want you to know that this whole experience really has been -- I never thought I’d take up drumming again or join a band or --”

_ “How will I know if he’s thinking of me? I try to phone but I’m too shy, can’t speak --” _

“It’s been crazy.” 

“What kind of crazy?” asked Mary Jane, eyes glinting in the dark.

_ “Falling in love is so bittersweet --,” _

“Pineapple on pizza kind of crazy,” said Gwen.  

_ “This love is strong, why do I feel weak?” _

“I want to kiss you right now kind of crazy,” said Gwen.

Mary Jane’s lips parted.

_ “How will I know?” _

The crowd erupted with applause. 

“We’ve reached our final act of the night, but it’s a good one,” said the emcee. “Put your hands together for Spider-Gwen and the Mary Janes!” 

Gwen’s eyes widened, but Mary Jane was already rushing onto the stage where their instruments waited. Gwen sat behind her drumset and searched the dimly lit crowd. In the third row, she spotted her father sitting with Peter and Harry and Anna Watson, all of them grinning . Harry had his phone up to record and Peter gave them a thumbs up. Gwen could hear her heartbeat in her ears as loud as any drum. 

Mary Jane’s back was to the audience. Their eyes met and she winked. It was only Mary Jane. It was always Mary Jane. 

Gwen started off the beat and the lights came up. 

 

Glory won ESU’s first ever annual Battle of the Girl Bands. 

Spider-Gwen and the Mary Janes came in second. 

“We are not losers!” Betty yelled backstage, gripping their hands and jumping up and down. 

“Yes we are!” said Gwen. 

“The winners of the losers!” cried Mary Jane. “No one lost as awesomely as we lost!” 

Someone tapped Gwen’s shoulder and she turned to see her dad. She threw her arms around him. 

“Congratulations, angel,” said George. “My little songbird.” 

Harry managed to squeeze himself in between them. “You blew my fricking mind! Who knew you had that in you?” 

“Mary Jane did,” said Gwen, watching as Mary Jane threw her arms around Peter’s back while Peter hugged his aunt. 

Peter extricated himself from the May/Mary Jane sandwich and made a face at Betty, who was making out with Ned. Then he smiled at Gwen, who waited for him. 

“Spider-Gwen, huh?” said Peter. He had a strange look on his face, like he couldn’t decide if a joke was funny.

“It was Mary Jane’s idea,” said Gwen. “I didn’t even know she changed our band name.” 

Peter cast a glance at Mary Jane. She was trying to have a conversation with Anna, but well wishers kept vying for her attention and she let them. Anna watched fondly. “That’s Mary Jane for ya. She’s something else.” 

“She really is,” Gwen said. “Now come here and hug me.” 

“Bossy.” But he gave her what she wanted all the same. 

The guys started loading up the instruments (“Don’t just stand around, do something useful,” said May) and the girls moved back to the dressing room to gather their things. Gwen caught sight of a flash of gold in a mirror and with a quick nod to her bandmates, made her way in that direction.

“Glory, right?” Gwen said. 

The woman looked up at her and flashed a shining smile. “Spider-Gwen.” 

“Yes!” said Gwen, flattered she remembered. “I wanted to tell you that you were amazing. You deserved the win.” 

“Thanks, hon,” said Glory. “Your band was killer. Got any openings?” 

Gwen laughed. “Why would you want to join our band?” 

“Girl power, baby,” Glory said with a shrug. “And because . . . well, you can only be a solo act for so long before you need something more.” 

Gwen understood. 

“Hey, I gotta go,” Glory said.  Gwen watched her walk away, a vision in gold, and she tossed over her shoulder, “Take care of yourself, okay, Spider-Gwen? Something tells me the world isn’t through with you yet.” 

 

The music hall was empty and dark and Gwen stood in the middle of the stage. She should have gone home with the boys or her dad, but she couldn’t bear it. The thought of leaving this place behind, of becoming whoever she used to be, filled her with a kind of slow terror. She didn’t want to be who she was and she wasn’t sure who she was becoming. Caught in the middle. Caught in a web. 

She threw her head back and her arms up and imagined she was Spider-Man. Imagined she was free. No coming home, no going back. In her mind, Spider-Man had no home, nothing to hold him to one place. He could go anywhere, be anyone, and never show the world his face. There was freedom in living underneath a mask, Gwen thought. But no practicality. 

_ “They don't know where they wanna go, but they're walkin' in time . . .”  _ a voice rang out.

Gwen spun around. Mary Jane came onto the stage, hair messy and makeup smudged, but still wearing her sequined getup. 

“I’m gonna have that song stuck in my head forever,” said MJ. 

“I thought you left,” said Gwen. “With Anna and May and Peter.” 

“I did. Guess I forgot something.” 

Gwen’s breath caught. She couldn’t handle the way Mary Jane was looking at her. It was the way a person would watch waves crash. That certainness of inevitability, even in something that couldn’t be controlled. 

“What you said earlier --,” 

“You changed the band name,” said Gwen. “Why?”

Mary Jane’s face twitched at the interruption, but she rolled with it like she always did. “I do love being the center of attention. But what can I say? I’ve got an ear for music, and our names sound great together.” 

Gwen’s lips quirked. “I bet you use that on all the girls.” 

“Once or twice.” 

Mary Jane was so close. Gwen could count the shades of green in her eyes. 

“I don’t know what I want,” whispered Gwen into the space between them. “I don’t know if I can be what you want.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Blue Eyes.” Mary Jane brushed a strand of hair back from Gwen’s face, tucking it behind her ear. It was so cliche. It was so sweet. “You’re it.” 

When Mary Jane kissed Gwen, there was no music. The world was quiet and still and Gwen could hear the sound of their lips moving together and their breaths overlapping. She was warm all over and it was like she had been here a dozen times, a hundred, a thousand, in Mary Jane’s arms, tasting Mary Jane, breathing her. They were crashing waves. They were inevitable. 

 

They walked to Gwen’s place, hands swinging in between them. The night wind swept their hair away from their faces in a tangle of ruby and gold. 

“Hey, look!” Mary Jane yelled, pointing up to the sky. 

High above them, silhouetted against the building lights, was Spider-Man. He really did look like something other than human up there, a dark avenger brought here by the mothership. 

“Makes you feel safer, huh, knowing he’s there?” asked Mary Jane. 

Gwen wasn’t sure it did. Sometimes she felt like superheroes were dark omens. They went against nature and science and showed up here as a sign of the downfall of humanity. 

But then again, Gwen didn’t believe in signs. 

“Do you think,” Gwen began. “I mean, tomorrow . . .” 

Mary Jane squeezed her hand. “Tomorrow’s tomorrow.” 

Gwen rolled her eyes. That was such a Mary Jane answer. “You can’t leave everything to chance. We have to tell people something.” 

“We will tell them to stop being so serious. To chase the blues away . . . with Gwen and MJ!” 

“You are so odd, Mary Jane Watson,” Gwen said. But she laughed. Even as they walked. Even as Mary Jane kissed her right there on the sidewalk where anyone could see. Even as the stars shone and superheroes flew and the world went on so terrible and lovely in its unpredictability. She laughed and laughed and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me at [http://bipeteparker.tumblr.com](tumblr)!


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